Friday, October 30, 2015

I am a mature student, the only one here, and it's my first day at this school. I'm waiting in a common area till I find out which room we're in. They've all gone in. I follow the way they went but I'm late and get told off by the teacher, who indicates that I should sit in a small space between the others. Everyone here slides desks around to where they want them. Instead of sitting where I'm told, with my briefcase, I decide to take one of the desks from the back and slide it around to where I want it. A little while into class, the teacher slides himself over the desk on my left, where two others sit and brings his head over to talk to us, mainly to me. I think so this is why private education is so successful, the individual attention. But then I can't make out what he's saying, apart from the last few words. This is not going to work for me. I go for a walk outside in the street. It's daytime. A sign is hanging from a pub down onto the ground and only just attached by a corner, so I step on it easily to bring it down altogether, which is safer. I think, well that class was fun, but it was English. The next one might be Maths and that would be a bore. Back in the common area, reading, and I realise they've all gone in. I'm late again.

Tuesday, September 29, 2015

Some gibbering ass (Lance Price) is trying to say Corbyn's speech was no good. He's trying his damnedest to portray it as a dismal failure. He wants Corbyn to go chasing other people's votes, the very mistake that has now cost Labour two general elections. Jeremy Corbyn's speech was excellent, and I have watched all the leader speeches for both main parties for many years. It was one of the best. The BBC commentator, Lance Price, was wheeled on by Andrew Neil immediately after the speech with a little caption on the screen, "Speech Verdict". How can this be viewed in any other way than a calculated attempt to smear Corbyn and distort perception of his speech? Price says he had low expectations and the speech fell well below them. I don't think the idiot can have even listened to the speech. It was excellent and ended on a massive high, far more thoughtful and satisfactory than Miliband or Blair ever achieved with their phoney baloney. I make a little exception for Gordon Brown but he too was in thrall to "chasing the game". Corbyn is on the money. But I'm afraid BBC News is in a tailspin. I love the BBC but its news division is dissolving into amateurish, clownish self-indulgence and groupthink. #dailypolitics #bbcdailypolitics #bbc #bbcnews #bbcdailypolitics #andrewneil #jeremycorbyn #uklabour #lanceprice

BBC Newsnight commentators are like children trying to guess what the grown-up world is about, chattering nonsense. ‪Evan Davis was in a world of his own as he questioned John McDonnnell about policy at the 2015 Labour party conference. He was all wrapped up and smiling and not even looking at McDonnell. He talked so fast, the shadow chancellor could hardly get a word in. Evan Davis hasn't woken up from the previous groupthink and when he does he will get into another groupthink. He might never have an idea of his own, as long as he lives. Allegra Stratton is even worse. All the mateys together. #‎bbcnewsnight‬ #evandavis #allegrastratton #johnmcdonnell

Wednesday, September 02, 2015

It is night and the city streets are dark and crowded. A sort of tournament is under way, which all the people are in. The crowds proceed around a large town square in the darkness. The trophy is on a small table in the middle of the grassy square where all is pitch dark. I go in and take it. Everywhere is so dark there is no risk of being seen. Someone is with me, but only vaguely. I lead the way around the corner of a building and along narrow pavements lined with police. Maybe we drift apart a little on our way out of town.

Tuesday, July 28, 2015

Trying to find a way to the station. Somewhere like Hammersmith, Fulham Palace Road. Leaving a room, closing the door. To one side a dead end. The other way, corridors that lead to other corridors and turnings.

*

We go into a shop on the way to a concert, and the person I know points out where things are. But then they leave and I'm at the counter, behind which is a wall of many shelves with many boxes. And the shopkeeper, who is not even around (probably in a back room) is waiting for me to learn what I'm after.

*

The bar is crowded before the show. We try to get a place to order. The person I'm with gets in before me, further down the bar. By the time I am about to order my own drink, they are gone.

*

People I don't know, whose faces I never even see. Two women try to French kiss me at the same time, one on each side. I'm not sure if I know them or not.

Friday, March 13, 2015

"Imagine you’re sitting in a coffee shop, reading a novel by Cormac McCarthy, not bothering anybody, when an argument breaks out at another table."
My flash fiction "Criminals" is in Spelk Fiction this week.

Monday, March 09, 2015

My handler organised a beach holiday for me, I think in Gaza. Yes, it was a bit rough and ready, but a beach is a beach. People were enjoying the surf, though it was a bit far out, not too far really. I had to go into a cabin in the water by the shore, which it turned out was a toilet. After the trip, when I thought about it at home, it occurred to me that it was a pity to have effluent in the sea, even only a bit, where a couple of hundred yards away there would be people swimming and playing. However, the call came again for another secret mission, this time to Israel. It was only when we reached the border and military guards let my handler proceed through the turnstile that I realised I'd forgotten my little passport. Oddly though, it didn't matter as they never checked and we found ourselves on a sort of pier, over another beach. Turn about and there was our destination, a pub called Szel's. It's a small place, almost dark as night inside. I leave my handler sitting at one of only a couple of tables in the bar. The staircase is unlit, and three chairs across one of the steps almost block the way. But there is a gap on one side and I continue on up to the next flight of stairs.

Sunday, January 11, 2015

The back row bench seat in a small arena. A young woman on my right closes the space and links my arm. It is pleasing. From the left, another even more sensual woman, in patterned leggings and top, rolls onto me and begins petting. I feel intense pleasure. But now a man comes up to the row below and remonstrates with her furiously. He takes her down. There is the prospect of violence and I must escape. Finding of the way out. It is found. I stop to see, between vertical panels of canvas, a broom sweeping the stage floor, ready for the dancers.